


WIP - Hockey Fic (Actual title TBD)

by Dancing_Adrift



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Eventual Wincest, Eventual hockey, M/M, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam Winchester gets to go to college AND have a relationship with his hunter brother. Also, there's hockey.<br/>(that's the gist of it, but the wording is subject to change upon the story's completion)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS**  
> I set up the draft for this fic a month ago to test out different functions of AO3. Now, rather than lose the set-up I've already done, I've decided to post the couple chapters I already have written. I am unsure how long this fic will end up being, so if you don't like starting fics until they're complete, I won't at *all* be offended if you ignore this. HOWEVER. If you want to read and leave me your thoughts as I go, your feedback will be a) highly motivational (and therefore helpful in getting me to work on and complete this fic) and b) greatly appreciated. If you like what I have so far, I'd love to hear it :) Otherwise, as I said, feel free to ignore this work for now, and I look forward to your readership upon its completion. Thank you, as always, for reading! <3

The first few months that Sam attended Stanford University were pretty rough. Of course, it wasn’t _all_ bad - he was doing really well in all of his classes; he had always excelled academically when he had adequate time and opportunity. He even managed to make a fair number of friends, to his own surprise and amusement. On the surface, he was a bright-eyed, well-adjusted, extremely intelligent college freshman with a disposition as sunny as his dimpled smile. The only person who had any inkling that maybe Sam’s life wasn’t as idyllic as it seemed was his roommate, but even that impression was built upon moments few and far between when the stresses of school wore on Sam’s psyche enough to reveal a hint of the darker struggles lying underneath his cheery facade.

The truth was, even though Sam loved everything about being at Stanford and living the life he had always dreamed for himself, he wasn’t completely happy. If he lingered on his misery, he had to admit that it stemmed from an intense homesickness - he missed his family desperately. Eighteen years of never being apart from either his father or his brother for more than a handful of days at a time was really tough to move past. It was a little easier to accept the separation from his father - the harsh words exchanged at their parting left little room for anything but more hurt, and it was easier to let the anger cover any deeper feelings of rejection - but the separation from his brother was proving to be a much harder adjustment. Dean had been his best friend for his entire life, but also filling the roles of caretaker and protector, teacher and cheerleader, hero and confidant. Sometimes, when he let himself dwell, he missed his older brother with a desperation that left him struggling for air.

For those first few months, Sam didn’t hear from either his brother _or_ his father, nor did he make any effort to contact them. Even if he’d found reason enough to warrant a call, he knew that the chances of them answering were pretty low; the life of a hunter didn’t leave much room for leisurely phone conversations, and any calls that had to be made were usually kept very brief to conserve minutes. Besides, adapting to college life took up all of Sam’s energy. As a result, he’d dealt with the pain of leaving the only family he’d ever known in the typical Winchester fashion - by ignoring it completely. Initially, that was pretty easy. There were so many people to meet, and things to learn, both in and out of the classroom, that Sam’s mind was kept quite happily occupied and his heart didn’t hurt as long as he kept focused on his new life as a full-time student.

It wasn’t until he attended his first real college party that any of that changed. Growing up with John and Dean Winchester, Sam was no stranger to alcohol, but he’d never really drank much even before leaving for Stanford. But when a few of his buddies dragged him off campus to the duplex of some upperclassmen for a house party, he didn’t try too hard to resist the pressure to indulge. He told himself it was all a part of the experience, and he could be okay with letting loose just this once to see what it was like. He allowed himself to partake in whatever drink was handed to him, and it didn’t take long before he - even with his 6’4”, well-muscled frame - was right and properly plastered.

He found himself splayed out on the futon in one of the upstairs bedrooms, gazing stupidly at a strand of palm tree Corona lights strung up along the ceiling, complemented by the various beer paraphernalia scattered throughout the room and highlighting a black and white poster of some topless chick lying on a beach. Sam’s brain was numb with the alcohol, fuzzy yet serene in the dimly-lit room. He vaguely recalled having been led up the stairs by two of his dorm-mates, how they had laughed when he tripped on one of the steps and nearly face-planted before they’d reached the top landing. They’d deposited him on the iron-framed mattress and headed back to the party below, chuckling and telling him to sleep it off. Instead, he’d reached for his phone and was now staring at the too-bright screen, Dean’s contact info selected and practically taunting him to press the dial button. His fingers must have been operating separately from his brain, because the next moment he was watching the phone animation on the display flash “Calling Dean” right in his face. Before he could bring the phone to his ear, the call was connected, and Dean was shouting his name on the other end.

“Sam? Sammy? …Sam!” Dean sounded more and more upset with each repetition. Sam did his best to focus on getting his tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth and making it form proper words.

“De - De’n. _Dean_. … Dean.” He struggled, the simple syllable of his brother’s name as difficult as though he were saying it for the first time.

“M’ drunk.” Words were tough, but the truth was easy. He closed his eyes against a pounding that had started faintly in his brain, causing him to feel dizzy even in his horizontal state.

“Think maybe ‘m gonna be sick.” His stomach started rolling ever so softly, a sensation that wasn’t exactly pleasant. He did his best to ignore it and tried instead to make himself pay attention to what his brother was saying.

“Sam! What the hell, man? Where are you? What are you doing?” The anger in Dean’s voice was rapidly devolving into worry. Sam frowned and blinked his eyes open, mesmerised by the tropical, beer-themed lights.

“‘T’sa party. House. Heh. Party house. ‘M resting. ’S comfy, but I don’t feel so good.” He tried sitting up but moaned in regret as his stomach turned over in protest, and he laid back down immediately. On the other end of the line, Dean sighed.

“Should’ve known you’d be a lightweight. Never did take to drinking much. Have you been having any water? Eating anything? Where _are_ you?”

“Don’ need water; ’m not a lightweight, Dean. ‘M fine. Well, ‘m not _fine_ \- miss you too much to be _fine_. But ‘m good, man. ‘M good, y’know?” Sam’s mumblings were met with several long moments of silence, so he pulled back the phone to squint at the screen, his liquor-addled brain helpfully providing the fuzzy thought that perhaps the call had been lost. He then proceeded to drop the thing right on his face. He yelped in surprise as it bounced off his nose and then skittered open across the hardwood floor, coming to rest against the return vent on the opposite wall. Sam just groaned and, too tired and woozy to care, laid his arm over his eyes to block out the green and yellow glow of the beer-palm-tree-lights, and passed right the fuck out.

*

Sam woke what felt like several hours later to the incessant buzz of his cell on the floor against the metal grate of the vent. He rolled towards the irritating noise and managed to fall completely off the futon with a loud thump, just barely catching himself on his forearms to keep his face from slamming into the cold floor. He swore to himself right then and there that this was the last time he was ever getting _this_ drunk - he felt like death run over, his mouth dry and foul, his eyes three kinds of irritated, and his brain doing its best to hammer its way right out of his skull. He turned his body slightly and stretched one long arm across the small room, barely having to reach, and retrieved the offending cellular device. The screen displayed his brother’s name, and he punched the green button to answer the call, drawing the phone to the ear not currently nestled in the crook of his elbow against the floor.

“Mmmf,” he grunted incoherently into the phone, “what?”

“Fuck you too, Sammy. What the hell happened? I’ve been calling you all freaking night. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Deaaannn,” Sam groaned, squinting against the bright morning light now streaming in through the room’s single window and willing his brain to stop throbbing.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that, dude. I thought maybe you’d died of alcohol poisoning or something.”

“Dean. I’m fine. I just had a little too much too drink. I feel like shit, if it’s any consolation. Jerk.”

“Good. You deserve it for making me worry, bitch. What’d you call me for, anyway? Finally decide that college is too much? Realize you can’t live without me?”

“College is fine.” Sam hesitated, the latter part of Dean’s pseudo-teasing sticking out and striking too close to home. After several moments of his brother’s continued quiet, Dean spoke up again.

“Seriously, Sammy. Everything okay?” Sam took a deep breath, considered how much he really had missed his brother the past few months, and decided to take a chance.

“Yeah, Dean, everything really is fine. Everything is great! But... I do kinda miss you sometimes though. Can’t help it. Usually I’m too busy to notice... but I guess last night it just caught up with me. ‘M sorry I worried you.”

“Fuck.” Dean breathed the word, succinct and eloquent.

“Dean!” Sam laughed, “It’s not _that_ bad. But, it’s just the longest I’ve ever been apart from you, and it’s kinda weird, man. You know?” Dean was silent for only a split-second.

“Yeah, Sammy, I know. I’ve missed you too, man. We’ve _both_ missed you.”

Sam snorted.

“Yeah, right. ‘We.’ Like dad gives a rat’s ass about me.” The day he’d left for Stanford, John had told him to never come back; that sentiment was one not easily forgotten, or forgiven.

“Whatever man, you and dad can fight about that one. Count me out. But it’s really good to hear from you.” Dean drew a deep breath and continued. “Just ‘cause you abandoned us doesn’t mean we don’t care anymore. You’re family, dude. Family doesn’t give up that easily, okay?”

Sam nodded mutely, Dean’s easy forgiveness causing his throat to constrict and his eyes to water, the welling-up of emotions he hadn’t realized he’d been suppressing now making themselves known. He sniffled heavily and swallowed, preventing all but a couple of tears from escaping his bloodshot eyes.

“Thanks, man.” Just then, Sam heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so he told Dean he’d talk to him later and quickly hung up, pushing himself slowly up off the floor, hastily drying his eyes and running both hands through his shaggy hair in an attempt to look slightly less disheveled. One of the guys who had dumped him on the futon the night before appeared in the doorway, looking just as awful as Sam felt, and Sam grinned over at him as he tucked his phone into his back pocket and followed his hungover friend back down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

It was several weeks later when Sam decided to give his brother another call. It was a Friday and the end of his first semester; he had just handed in his last paper and was done with all academic responsibilities for the next ten days. The entire campus was bathed in the warmth of the late afternoon sun, the lawn, plush all year round, in front of the dorms gleaming oh-so-invitingly in the bright light. There was a smattering of students taking advantage of the warmer-than-average December weather and basking in the end-of-finals glow - some just sunbathing, others reading books on blankets or tossing a frisbee across the sea of green. Sam got caught up in the relaxed atmosphere, so different from the usual stress of undergrad life. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he thought about his accomplishments - how successful he’d been in his classes, and how well he’d managed living on his own for the first time in his life. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed number one on his rarely-used speed dial. To his delighted surprise, Dean answered after the very first ring.

“Sam-may! Long time no hear.” Sam smiled just to hear his brother’s voice. The perfect weather, the temporary freedom from responsibilities, and his best friend to share it with, though distant, made Sam’s heart burst with elation.

“Hey, Dean! How’s it goin’?” There was a brief exchange of slightly awkward small talk before Dean inquired as to how Sam was doing with school, and then Sam just couldn’t shut up. He told Dean everything - about how well he was sure he had done in his classes, how ecstatic he was that he respected and admired nearly all of his professors, how much he actually loved the introduction to Legal Studies (“What? ‘Subject Matter Jurisdiction’? You _would_ enjoy something called that. Nerd.”). He expanded on his first drunken experience - the last time he and Dean had spoken - and how he had avoided drinking ever since (“Really, man? You’ve just gotta learn how to do it _right_. Then you’ll enjoy it just fine.”). He shared how excited he was for Christmas break, and how he would be visiting a friend’s house in the mountains of Sun Valley, Idaho for the holidays.

“What are _you_ doing for Christmas, Dean? I know we never did much, but it’s still a reason to celebrate, right?” Sam bit on his lower lip, considering for a second before continuing. “Hey, I know! You could join us! I’m sure everyone would love to meet you. There’ll be skiing, and drinking, and hot tubs full of hot girls - it’d be great!”

Dean choked on his laughter before answering, his voice a bit rough around the edges.

“Nah Sammy, I couldn’t do that. You’ll have plenty of fun without me.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Besides, Dad n’ I are workin’ a case over in Salem right now, so I‘m not exactly in the area. Really am sorry to have to turn ya down, but you know how it is.”

Sam huffed out a breath, blowing the bangs out of his eyes as he stifled the momentary pang of regret in his chest. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to smile before responding.

“Yeah, no man, that’s fine. Was a totally random idea, I get it. No worries.” A breath to stop himself from rambling. “Maybe you’ll swing by the next time you _are_ in the area though?” He tried, but he couldn’t quite conceal the note of hope in his voice.

“Yeah, Sammy, I may just do that. Can’t hurt to check up on my college-boy baby brother, right?”

Sam smiled genuinely at that and agreed that, no, that would not hurt at all, and that he’d love to see Dean, would love to show him around campus anytime. He then wished his brother an early merry Christmas, and Dean told him once again to enjoy his trip with his friends, and then they said their good-byes and hung up. Sam took his time walking back to his dorm, enjoying the warm sun on his face and greeting fellow students that he passed on his way with a grin that spread from ear to ear, his good mood absolutely infectious.

*

The next time Sam ‘spoke’ to his brother was three days later, from the kitchen of his friend Genevieve’s family home nestled amongst the snowy mountains of the resort town of Sun Valley. His friends were in the adjacent room, laughing joyously as they exchanged and opened their increasingly ridiculous white-elephant gifts. He’d been designated to fetch the next round of beers (a beverage which he’d discovered he could handle in moderate quantities without getting sick), and he took a moment to type a quick text to his brother.

_Merry Christmas, Dean. Having a great time playing in the snow. Wish you were here._

He had just grabbed two handfuls of beer from the fridge, managing to fit the neck of one bottle in the webbings between each of his long fingers, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He set the drinks on the counter and smiled fondly at his brother’s reply.

_Salem witches are the worst. Have a drink on me. Merry Xmas Sammy._

Sam replaced the phone in his jeans, and gathered the drinks back into his capable hands, a huge smile on his face as he entered the living room and joined in his friends’ laughter, his grin only widening when they greeted him with cheers and outstretched arms, a bunch of thirsty camels eager to relieve him of his burden.

*

Six days later - still surrounded by his college friends, this time at one of the many resort bars below the numerous ski runs, New Year's celebrations in full swing - he texted Dean again. Throughout his vacation in the mountains, he’d become accustomed to a higher level of imbibement, and was quickly learning how to better manage his inebriation. Tonight’s lesson was in shots of tequila, and so far he’d been doing pretty well holding his own, tossing them back with even the most seasoned drinkers. As midnight approached, his friends started pairing off in anticipation of a New Year's kiss when the hour struck. Sam, having started the trip alone, and not having kindled any particular interest in any of his unattached friends during their stay, quietly ducked outside onto the mostly vacant balcony just as the crowd began cheering the final countdown. He pulled his beanie tight over his ears as he took a moment to appreciate how his every breath was held suspended midair before it was whipped away by the howling winds. The stars in the velvet-blue sky over the mountains were just as breathtaking as the frigid air, and the tall pine trees cast their shadows on the snow of the slopes under the illumination of the waxing moon. With only seconds left until midnight, Sam removed one of his heavy gloves, flipping open his phone as soon as he’d pulled it from his jacket, and tapped out a message as quickly as his rapidly stiffening fingers would allow in the sub-zero temps. Then, with a final puff of frozen breath and one last sweeping glance over the nighttime winterscape, he headed back inside to rejoin his friends in celebrating fresh starts and a new year.

* * * * * * *

Alone in a motel room in Raleigh, North Carolina and nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels, Dean watched footage of the ball dropping in New York for the third time that evening. The glare from the screen provided the only light, and the television was muted; Dean wasn’t really paying attention to what was airing anyway. There was literally nothing else programmed in the wee hours of New Year's Day, and apparently the motel owner’s son, who was manning the front desk that night, had ‘forgotten’ how to operate the pay-per-view account, so Dean couldn’t even lose himself in some crappy New Year’s porno.

He gave his phone a confused look when it vibrated in his hand just as the ball reached the bottom of its decent and the confetti rained over the streets of Times Square the exact same way it had, on the hour, for the last two hours. Through the whiskey-haze, he made out his brother’s name on the notification screen and a half-hearted smile passed over his face as he flipped the device open to read the text.

_Happy New Year! :-) Hope to see you soon._

Dean closed his phone and took another pull from the bottle. Ever since he and Sam had started talking again, he’d struggled with how acutely he missed his younger brother. Sam leaving for college had left a hole in Dean’s life that had quickly been filled with feelings of abandonment and general hurt. The few interactions they’d had in the last several weeks had made great strides towards mending that pain, but as long as they were apart, Dean knew he’d never feel completely whole. He was infinitely glad that they were talking again though, and he always made sure to answer or respond as soon as possible every time Sam’s name popped up on his cell’s display. As he forced his booze-numbed fingers to type a response (a quick _Happy New Year Sammy_ ), he resolved that he would do everything in his power to maintain this rekindling relationship with his brother; he would do whatever it took to make this a year to remember for them both.


End file.
